The Dark Frontier

A Moonsea Adventure

Chapter 5

Reunion

Ropominar, Mirtul 18

            Rhia woke again in the morning, stretched, moved to better light near a window, and continued to study. Excitement radiated from her like heat from a flame. Tears ran down her cheeks when she discovered - in the second book - the Patterns describing how to Weave repairs upon the Mikhail. She was amazed to see, described in Jarrow’s distinctive handwriting, the process for unraveling the Weaves of another. A process she had half-discovered herself, out of desperation. With the proper ritual motions and words of power now described to her, Rhia could easily duplicate the Weave as needed. There were so many secrets revealed to her, and so many more waiting to be revealed. It would be months before she could reliably duplicate many of the Patterns she found, years before she would achieve mastery, but some of them could be of use rather soon. Very soon. It was with a feral grin that she looked up from the books finally, to see one of the Mikhail standing above her.
            "Mistress, there are messengers outside the keep. They vish to speak to the Lord. Shall ve attack them?" His voice was bland, calm as ever.

            Peasants - children, mostly - darted back and forth in the hallway, whispering and coming to hover around the Lord's closed door, then scuttle off again without knocking. One of them let out a little yelp, nearly jumping out of his skin when one of the Mikhail appeared in the doorway, brushing past the child without a glance. His eyes were locked on Rhia, and he bowed low when he reached her.
            "Mistress, there are messengers outside the keep. They vish to speak to the Lord. Shall ve attack them?" His voice was bland, calm as ever.
            Rhia raised an eyebrow at the Mikhail. Jarrow must have been really anti-social. Then again, given his apparent fate, I suppose he may have just been a little defensive.
            "Mikhail, it is not generally considered polite to attack messengers. It's sometimes done, mind you, but it's bad form."
            The Mikhail bowed. "I apologize, Mistress."
            She looked about her, wondering if anyone more appropriate was going to make this call. It was beginning to appear that the role of 'Lord's Mag' also included the position of 'Chief of Palace Security.' She gave a mental shrug. We do as we must.
            "No Mikhail, don't attack just yet. I'll go tell Lord Harkon we have guests." She made her way to the lord's door, knocking to get his attention. "Milord, there are people claiming to be messengers outside. Do you wish to speak to them?"
            The heavy door opened, and the Lord appeared in the doorway, looking somewhat better for the rest he'd received. He smiled and nodded at her. "Maga Darkstar. Vhat is it you vish?" After she'd repeated herself, his smile dissolved to a frown. "Messengers? Your pardon, Maga, but do you know who sends them?"
            “I am sorry, Milord. I have not spoken to them myself. The Mikhail informed me of the messengers’ arrival, and I thought you should be informed immediately.” Rhia ducked her head. Excellent! I’m sure he’s glad to have a Diviner on the staff, now that you’ve impressed him with your abilities.
            He frowned. "I vill see them, if I might have your aid, kind Maga." Lord Harkon took her hand, entreating her. "If you vould have your servants," his eyes flicked to the Mikhail behind her, "lower the drawbridge and raise the gates after I don my armor, I vil be even more in your debt." Turning, he nodded to Atjets Hugo. "Atjets, if you vill hold them?" Atjets Hugo nodded and left.
            “Of course. It will be as you will, Milord.” Rhia looked to the Mikhail behind her, thought for a moment, and gave some carefully worded instructions.
            “Please go to the armory with your brothers, and prepare to open the drawbridge. I will send someone to you when we are ready. Please remain in the armory, in case we need the bridge raised again quickly. Should we need you to raise the bridge again, I will signal you by Weaving four red-colored balls of light and sending them straight upward from where I stand. You should be able to see that signal, should it occur. Thank you, Mikhail.”

            After an excruciating wait, a thin, scarred face appeared in the arrowslits above the drawbridge. "I am Atjets Hugo of Talona. From vhere do you come vith this message, and from whom?"
            The fact that they were not shot down on sight was a relief to Aksana. She thought quickly trying to remember what she had been told about Ezeroh Keep. Although Atjets Hugo was one of the names she had heard she stayed wary. It could always be bandits posing as the rightful residents.
            For all his impatience, Thaurlann suddenly found himself at a loss for words when the Talontar spoke. He hadn't been given much more information than to say they were from the city.
            Finally Thaurlann decided that he should just stick with the truth, especially speaking to a priest. "We are from the city of Melvaunt, sent by the Nanther family." He glanced over at his companion to see her reaction to the situation. Aksana gave the outlander just the briefest of nods as he glanced over at her. Her darting eyes touched on his for just a moment before returning to scanning the keep.
            The Atjets stared at them for so long that when he spoke again it was startling. "Who gave to you this message? The two of you, you traveled alone to this place?" His tone was even, but the question itself said that he had reason to suspect they were not who they said they were.
            Thaurlann decided to stick to his policy of truth. "Atjets, we were given this message by Lieutenant Obrad, though our company is led by Captain Garsha, a soldier of the Nanther family. We have traveled with this company from Melvaunt, though we two have traveled ahead to talk to the Lord."
            There was another long pause as the man studied them. "I vill take to the Lord your reqvest. Vait there."
            Thaurlann grumbled softly. He hated waiting.
            He turned back towards his companion and spoke softly. "If and when they lower the drawbridge, you stay here, so you can report back in case anything happens." Aksana nodded agreement to Tharlann's plan, somewhat relieved that she would be able to stay back where she felt safer.

            The Atjets and the Lord approached Rhia where she waited. "The Atjets, he does not think they are trustvorthy," Harkon said, frowning. "You have been very generous, Maga, and I hesitate to ask more of you, but... if you vould aid me vonce more, perhaps use your sorcery to find for me if they are bandits?"
            Rhia considered for a moment, then shook her head, slowly.
            “The human mind, milord, it is a complex thing. I do not know if I can tell you whether or not these messengers are bandits, but if they are intent upon hiding something, or betraying you, that thought will likely be on the… the surface of their minds, as they speak to you. If I can get to within twenty rods of them, I may be able to confirm such thoughts, but there is no guarantee. If you turn them away, I may be able to see where they go, and with whom they meet, depending on how far they travel, but then you run the risk of turning away legitimate messengers.” She shrugged. “I may be able to tell if they’re hiding something, Milord, but in doing so, I, at least, will have to be close enough to them that there may be danger from treachery, should that be their aim. Perhaps we could lower the bridge but keep the portcullis secured? If the messengers stand outside the gate while you speak to them, we would be taking a small risk, should there be a battering ram hiding nearby, but I believe it may be the best way.”
            Lord Harkon nodded decisively. "It vill be as you say, Maga. If you vill have your servants lower the drawbridge, ve may stand vithin the archers' room. Atjets, if you vill join us?" The Atjets bowed slightly.
            Rhia accompanied the men to their chosen hiding spot, sending one of the children to tell the Mikhail to lower the bridge. Once situated properly, with a good view of the bridge through the embrasures, Rhia pulled a shiny copper piece from her pouch - the same one she had used before, in fact. While they waited, she rehearsed the keys to the Weaving in her mind.

            "May it speed your vay," he grunted, dropping the coins into Spielos' hand.
            Speilos shook his head, then smiled broadly, while giving a slight shrug, hoping his manner would convey his utmost, sincere apologies for the delay in his answer. "I'm sorry, sergeant," Spielos said in a perplexed manner. "It took me a moment to remember what a vardo was. Either way, I've come here to learn new stories to tell, and see the lands I'd heard so much about as a caravan guard."
            Speilos accepted the coins with a bow. "I'm interested to hear your offer when you've the time to talk; I'm sure you've got much more important things to do than talk with a gypsy before we enter the keep."
            "Ve go novhere until the scouts, they return." Stammel stuck his thumbs in his belt, considering Spielos. "This place, it has no barracks. The troops vill have to stay in the village vhen they do not guard. I do not vant trouble vith the Lord if his peshka are harmed. If you vill keep them happy vith your stories and songs, you can stay vith us, eat vith us. Vhat say you?"

            "Her current health is the result of the gracious blessings of Talona herself."
            The Manakja frowned. "So you say."
            Krel raised an eye brow slightly at the veiled insult. An odd gesture for a man whose left eye brow was replaced with scars. He continued, looking once again at the Manakja of Shar, "The voman claimed to be in the employ of Manakja Alexana, the Lady Tjesnitjers. She stated that they freed the Lord from bandits and that she vas captured as the bandits retreated. Her vounds indicate that they treated her badly before her escape. I reported this information the night the voman arrived. The story, if true, vould mean that the voman has done a great service for the house Tjesnitjers. It vould seem prudent to confirm this claim vith those at the keep."

            The Manakja raised a placating hand. "I do not vish at this time to harm your vard, of course, Atjets - your hard vork, it vill not be vasted. But some kind of medicine to make her sleep, surely that is not so bad." Her smile was slightly condescending, as Sharrans often were.
            Krel responded a bit more quickly than he would have liked. "I vould expect no harm to her vhile she is in my care." He paused and silently wished that he had not allowed the Sharran to so easily fluster him with her half threats and veiled insults.
            He took a slow breath. "A difficult decision, certainly. She could have valuable knowledge vhich ve lose if she is unconscious." He looked from the Manakja to the lieutenant and realized the decision had been made before he had been summoned. The best he could hope for was to protect his patient as best he could.
            The healer shrugged under his water-covered cloak. "I vill have to speak vith my brethren. My own supply of herbs is for combat injuries, painkillers mostly. I have herbs vhich vould help a man sleep, but nothing strong enough to force sleep upon somevon not seeking it. I vill speak vith the others to find vhat is required." Krel looked back to Manakja Aliz. "Of course, I vill stay vith the patient, to ensure that the herbs vork correctly."
            The Manakja frowned, nettled at having been balked. "Painkillers, you say. The Loviatans, they know you take on their duties?" Her tone was waspish.
            The lieutenant bowed to them both, taking a step back. "I vill resume my duties. The captain thanks you, Manakja, Atjets." He fled, leaving Krel with Aliz.

            The drawbridge began its slow, rattling descent, making Aksana's horse start and shift nervously. The bridge thumped to the ground, opening directly onto a dark hall with a marble floor and suits of armor lining the far wall. The portcullis remained down, barring their path. No one stood behind it.
            Aksana leaned forward and patted her horse on the neck in an attempt to calm it. Her keen eyes strained to pierce the darkness beyond the portcullis. "Vhat think you, horse?" she whispered into its ear. I really should name the thing, she thought to herself. A twitch of the mare's ear was the only answer she received.
            "Come forevard, and ve vill speak," the Atjets' voice called to them from somewhere out of sight. When Thaurlann approached, he realized the voice wasn't coming from the room, but from the embrasure in the wall. Above, murder holes gaped dark and threatening.
            A tiny wave of apprehension prickled the hairs on his neck. He tried to brush the fears aside. The guarded behavior could just as easily indicate the protective owner of the keep as it could a pack of marauders luring more victims into their nest. After all, along the Moonsea this might be considered a warm welcome, he mused.
            Thaurlann straightened himself in the saddle, then spurred Lightning softly, ready to yank the reins in the opposite direction just in case.

            When the blonde man and his horse came into view, Rhia began Weaving. Her hands moved in the arcane gestures required to grasp and move the strands of the Weave as she needed, and she whispered softly the ancient words of power. The Weave warped itself as she required, and the copper coin in her hand flickered in the faint light.
            <"A copper for your thoughts.">
            The extended ring of the coin flipping through the air stretched in her ears, becoming the babble of thoughts in the heads of those around her. Quickly she filtered them out, focusing on the messenger.
            In the dark, the Lord watched Rhia carefully. When she turned to him, he looked a question.
            She shook her head slightly, still concentrating on the Weave. "He seems... not quite bright. Ask him who he serves again; no matter what he says, he'll think the truth first."
            The wizardess then focused completely on the blonde horseman, eyes half-closed, listening - and seeing his thoughts. She doubted he meant them harm. What she'd seen so far suggested he was as anxious to avoid entanglements with bandit raiders as they were, but the question would likely prove things either way.
            Lord Tjesnitjérs nodded to the Atjets, who spoke. "Tell me again who sent you."
            Thaurlann lifted his chin up and repeated his answer, the words echoing in Rhia's mind just as they did in her ears. Satisfied, Rhia ended the Weave, allowing the threads of mystic power to return to their original positions in the Great Weave. She absently caught the copper coin that she had flipped into the air minutes ago, deposited it in her belt pouch, and made eye contact with Lord Harkon.
            “He speaks the truth, Milord.”
            Lord Tjenitjérs beamed at her, speaking quietly. "Again you earn my gratitude, kind Maga. Come, join me in the dining hall to hear this message the man brings." He nodded to Atjets Hugo.
            The Atjets stepped out from behind the corner of the hall. He was so thin that his clothes flapped around him like a scarecrow's. "Bring your... friend. The Lord vill see you." There was a note of disapproval in his voice as his eyes moved to Thaurlann's hands. He gestured for Thaurlann to ride right into the hall, horse and all, as the portcullis began its slow ascent.
            Thaurlann patted his horse affectionately, obviously taking "friend" to refer to his mount. He stopped after a few steps, then looked back at Aksana. He nodded at her reassuringly.

            Leaving their horses in the care of the servants - all children, oddly enough - they were escorted to the banquet hall just beyond the entrance hall by the Atjets. The room was huge, with only a woman and a heavily-armored man present on the dais. The man fit the description Lieutenant Obrad had given Thaurlann; the woman had the look of a more southerly clime than here.
            A little surprised at having been asked to stand with him on the dais, Rhia nevertheless easily agreed to Lord Harkon’s request. Thus she found herself examining the blonde man as he entered. She kept her face impassive, simply watching the man whose (admittedly limited) thoughts she had read only a few minutes before.
            The Lord didn't wait for the niceties of introduction, speaking as soon as the messengers stood before him. "So. The Nanthers, they have heard of my... trouble." He didn't seem particularly pleased at the notion. "Vhere are these troops you tell me they send? Give to me this message that you bring."
            Thaurlann knelt on one knee, bowing as gracefully as one could in a full set of banded mail armor. "Milord, the troops are not far behind us, but the Lieutenant thought it wise to scout the situation before bringing forward the entire company." He allowed himself to come back to a standing position. "And our message is a simple one. We only were told to inform you of this great force coming to aid you, and to find out how it might serve that purpose."
            The Lord grunted in surprise. "Great force, you say?" He smiled, eyes looking at nothing in the room. "Bring my velcome to your Captain. They may camp on the list until better room can be found, but first I have a duty for them.
            "Not three days gone I vas indeed under siege by bandits. Von of my varriors vas captured." He rose, fists clenched. "If still they are near, I vant them hunted down."
            Something nagged at Thaurlann's mind for a moment, until he continued. "It seems, though, that you are well, milord? And what of The Lady Tjesnitjérs?" he asked, not butchering the pronunciation too badly, he hoped. "She is well also?" A tone of genuine concern underscored the question.
            The Lord gave him a sharp look, considering. "Ve are vell enough. The Lady, you know her?"
            Thaurlann shook his head politely. "No, Milord, I'm afraid I haven't had the honor. But a number of her Brothers and Sisters have traveled with us. I will be glad to bring them the news that she is well, and to tell our Captain of Your Lordship's safety." He bowed again, looking for any further orders before he departed.
            The Lord stared at him, surprised for the second time in a handful of minutes. "The Church of Loviatar, they send priests here?" He shook his head, waving off the question. "I vill see to it that they are given the best ve have to offer. How many come?" He nodded at Thaurlann's estimate. "Go now, and take my velcome to the clergy and the Captain."
            The Atjets followed them back to where the horses stood, incongruous in the closed hall, then disappeared up into the turret. Shortly afterwards, the portcullis was raised again, and they were free to go.

            Lieutenant Obrad was waiting for them on their return. His eyes flicked between them, searching. "You return unharmed," he observed. Glancing at the freeswords, some of whom lurked close to hear what was going on, he led the messengers aside a litte. "Vell?" he asked, voice low. "Who holds the keep?"
            "The Lord Tjesnitjérs holds the keep," Thaurlann replied. "Apparently bandits attacked him, but were driven off. He wants us to bring them to justice, if they are still nearby."
            Lieutenant Obrad frowned, stroking his fingers down his neat moustache. He looked at Aksana. "You agree vith this?"
            Aksana nodded. "The man holding the keep claims to be the Lord Tjesnitjers and I saw nothing to make me think othervise." She thought for a moment. "There vas an outlander vith him. She did not give her name or position."
            Thaurlann offered, "Perhaps Anya - that is, the woman we found - was attacked by these same bandits? Now that she is feeling better, maybe Atjets Krel could ask her for more information?"
            Obrad smiled slightly. "The Atjets is seeing to the voman now."
            "In either case, the Lord has graciously offered the list around his keep for our company to camp while making preparations."
            The lieutenant grunted an acknowledgement. "You talk like a priest, boy. Good vork, both of you. Join the others." As he walked away, one of the freeswords paused by them. Looking them over, he settled on Aksana. "Priest says he vants you." He jerked his thumb towards where Atjets Krel stood with Anya.
            Aksana blinked in surprise. "Excuse me," she said to Thaurlann with a quick nod of her head, "It seems I must go." She turned away quickly and hurried over to where Krel stood.

            As the lieutenant spoke to the messengers, Sergeant Stammel roused the troops to march again. Between shouts for the gods to devour the last of them to rise, he murmured to Krel in passing, "Atjets, soon ve move. The lieutenant, he tells me to tell you that your plan, it must be done now, or it vill be too late." If he was curious about what the Atjets' plan was, it didn't show as he herded together the freeswords and, much more politely, the clergy.
            Speilos wandered through the assembled company, looking at the freeswords and thinking of the impact their influx would have on the down below. Frowning slightly, he pulled a worn drum out of his pack and ran his fingers over it in a simple but rousing rhythm. It has been too long, he thought, and smiled.
            He began to sing and tap a rhythm on his drum as he walked through the company, only loud enough to be heard about ten feet away. He varied his tempo on the drum and the pitch in his voice to convey the story the song was telling, adding emphasis where needed:
"What shall we do with a drunken sailor? (steady timekeeping rhythm)
What shall we do with a drunken sailor?
What shall we do with a drunken sailor?
Early in the morning?
Way-hay, up she rises (heaving rhythm)
Way-hay, up she rises
Way-hay, up she rises
Early in the morning

Put him in the long boat 'til he's sober (rolling rhythm, neutral voice)
Pull out the bung and wet him all over (sharp rap, neutral voice)
Put him in the scuppers with the deck pump on him (sharp rap, stern voice)
Heave him by the leg in a runnin' bowlin' (sharp rap, stern voice)
Tie him to the taffrail when she's yard-arm under" (no drum, stern voice)

            He moved among the soldiers and clergy, trying to judge the effect it was having. A few grinned, but most merely looked puzzled. Clearly, they hadn't traveled much... or maybe they didn't understand the sailor-speech.
            What am I doing here again? Spielos smiled as he passed by yet another group of freeswords, noting their puzzled expressions. Time for a Change Of Plans! he thought. He wound down the last verse of the shanty, and thought a moment about some of the songs Hrolf had sung during their marches on the caravans. He started one, looking for the sergeant in the crowd as the warriors began to grin and sing along.
            Anya finally found Atjets Krel and brought his horse. Although it had been a bit painful, she had managed to ready the mount herself. She figured it was the least she could do after what Krel had done for her.
            "Atjets Krel," she called as she walked up to him, "I heard the sergeant telling the men ve are moving out, so I brought your horse. I think I vill be able to valk this time, praise Talona."
            Anya's greeting caught Krel off guard and caused a lump to form in his throat. The scarred healer was not completely comfortable with what he had been told to do, but he saw no real alternative.
            "Greeti..." The word caught in Krel's throat, and the healer covered his mouth. He coughed a couple of times and began again, following the words he had rehearsed for this moment. "I have mixed something for you... to help with today's travel." Krel held out a small cup for Anya and glanced away as someone passed near the two. "Drink it quickly... the company seems ready to move soon..." With a weak smile Krel added, "and I've never been good at making these things taste good."
            Anya took the cup with her better hand and looked in at its content. She didn't remember any healing potions from her training that ressembled this, but she had no reason to doubt Krel. He had done a great job in his healing up to now. Still, she was curious as to the herbs used in it. Bringing the cup to her nose, she smelled the contents. It smelled sweet, but not like honey... vaguely familiar. The ranger drank the sickly-sweet liquid quickly, then handed the cup back to Krel.
            "Vhat vas in that?" she asked curiously. A yawn caught her by surprise.
            Krel accepted the empty cup and busied himself cleaning the residue out with water from his waterskin. "Just something to help with today's travel. Too bad it will not keep the rain off." Krel added with a half hearted smile. "The officers vant to be out of the forest quickly, so the horse is yours to use again today. Other arrangements, I have been making."
            Krel glanced over to where he had seen Thaurlann and Aksana earlier. The man he'd sent to fetch Thaurlann was speaking to them. "The company should be ready soon. I vill steady the horse vhile you mount." He was not entirely sure how he would keep Anya in the saddle after the company started moving. He had a feeling that someone would have to ride double with Anya to make sure she did not take a fall.
            Krel looked over as Aksana approached. She smiled at Anya but addressed the priest. "Greetings Atjets. Do you reqvire my assistance vith something?"
            "Yes." The healer hesitated a moment as he glanced back at Anya to see if she had mounted yet. "Ve... might be picking up be pace today. I vill be staying close to Anya..." Krel paused and appeared a little unsure of what he wanted to say. "in case her vounds flare up. I vant somevon else close in case I need help. You already know Anya and have helped in the past, so I asked if you could ride vith us." Krel seemed to be watching Anya, more than talking to Aksana.
            Aksana looked closely at the distracted healer. "Of course, Atjets, it vould be no problem for me to help you." She stroked the nose of her horse as she watched Krel about his business. "Vhat do you think?" she whispered to the animal. "Is something bothering the Atjets?" Aksana chuckled quietly to herself. Vhat a strange habit I have picked up! "Perhaps I should name you." she announced out loud to the horse. She frowned in concentration for a moment. "Vhat think you of Raisa?" The mare snorted and nuzzled Aksana for more attention. "I vill take that to mean you like it," Aksana said as she obliged the horse by scratching it behind the ears.

            Krel seemed to be watching Anya more than talking to Aksana.
            "I feel much better thanks to you, Atjets," Anya said, then repressed another yawn. "Oh, I feel tired all of a sudden. I vill decline your horse, Atjets, but thank you still. A valk vill help me vake up."
            She turned and started walking as the troop's march began. Krel's mouth hung open as she passed. He shot Aksana a very concerned look, far more worried than Anya walking should have indicated. The healer fidgeted with the reins of his horse for a moment as he glanced around. Krel held up his hand palm out to ward off any questions from Aksana, and whispered close to her. "Do not try to vake her vhen she falls asleep." He nodded in the direction Anya was heading. "Stay close." He fell in behind Anya as she walked. Aksana shot the Atjets a strange look but said nothing. She watched Anya yawning as she walked away and wondered what was going on. With a slight shrug of her shoulders she followed Krel.
            Anya's mind was foggy, though, and she had trouble concentrating. So tired... it is strange... Even her thoughts were slowing and a little voice inside her mind, warning her of danger, was quashed by a need for sleep. This patch of grass looks comfortable... I vill just rest a moment... then catch up... She sat down on the long yellow grass and quickly fell on her side, fast asleep.
            Krel moved next to her and knelt down. He commented absently, "Much more difficult now." He looked up at Aksana. "She is just sleeping. They vanted her asleep in case she vas a spy from the bandits." He shrugged away the suggestion. He had voiced his opinion previously and been rejected. "Ve must be gentle or she vill vaken. The foreigner carried her vonce before. Fetch the foreigner and ask Sergeant Stammel for a couple of his men to help get her mounted."
            He paused to consider what else might be required to get the sleeping woman onto a horse. He suddenly wondered when he had started ordering Aksana around like a servant. He added quickly, "Thank you."
            Understanding showed in Aksana's eyes but she voiced no opinion to the Atjets. It was nothing more than she had suggested the night before. "Of course Atjets," she said with a slight nod, "I vill fetch them at vonce." With that said she turned and looked around for the Sergeant and the outlander.

            Finding the sergeant didn't take long, what with the volume Stammel had to holler to be heard over the chanting. Spielos dodged one of the priests' horses, coming up to him. "Sergeant, shall we sing our way into the keep?"
            Stammel thumped his back. "Let the Lord and the Forest know ve are here, gypsy!" Before Spielos could answer, a woman ran up to speak to the sergeant. Her appearance was shocking - she was not only red-haired as any Moonshae islander, but a horrible purplish scar covered the left side of her face. Spielos regarded the woman for just a passing moment, one eyebrow arching in an almost imperceptable way. Looks like a fun-loving lady, he thought.
            "Sir, the Atjets wishes to tell you that the foreign woman is asleep. He also requests the help of some of the men to get her onto a horse vithout vaking her."
            Stammel eyed her, frowning. "The men, they are marching. Tell him-" He hesitated, chewing his stick. "Tell the Holy Atjets that he can call on any of the soldiers he vants, of course, if they are not busy vith other duties. Here, take this von." He pushed Spielos towards her. "Maybe you can sing a lullaby, neh? Ha!"
            Sergeants are the same no matter where you go, Spielos thought wryly. "But I'm not very strong at all," he protested in an almost reflexive manner as he followed the woman. Suddenly, a thought popped into Spielos' head: how could he woman have possibly fallen asleep with all of the very loud singing going on around them? The thought was broken as he was nearly trampled by a horse.
            She didn't return to the priest immediately. Instead she searched the milling soldiers, finding who she was looking for with ease. The big blond outlander stood out in the crowd.
            "Excuse me, I do not mean to bother you but Atjets Krel sent me to find you. He requires help with the voman, Anya."
            Thaurlann and his horse appeared to be having a conversation, albeit one-sided, when Aksana walked up. The outlander turned to face her as she spoke, his eyes watching her with great concern.
            "First you, then he sends for me?" he responded. "This must be serious! I hope she hasn't taken a turn for the worse." He whistled softly at his steed, and the horse whinnied in response, turning to follow its human companion.
            As Thaurlann started after her, he nearly collided with the gypsy, sending a wry grin across the soldier's face. "They're sending everyone to help, I see!" he said, almost cheerfully. As he continued following Aksana, he muttered under his breath, "Well, at least, I guess she will have something to take her mind off the pain."
            Spielos gave a nod. "You seem to have matters well in hand," he said to nobody in particular. He smiled and used a passing group of freeswords to disengage himself from what he regarded as a work detail. Too many hands spoil the chowder.
            Once clear of the big swordsman and red-haired woman, he resumed his singing, banging on his drum, moving though the troops, leading the stanzas of different marching songs as they moved towards the castle.
            Aksana watched the gypsy slip away with narrowed eyes. The sergeant vas right, somevone needs to keep an eye on that von. Shrugging slightly, she continued on to help Krel with Anya. Another time.
            She didn't return to the priest immediately. Instead she searched the milling soldiers, finding who she was looking for with ease. The big blond outlander stood out in the crowd.
            "Excuse me, I do not mean to bother you, but Atjets Krel sent me to find you. He requires help with the voman, Anya."

            Krel knelt near Anya as he waited for the assistance of the others. He disliked this plan, but he resisted the urge to reach out and wake Anya as she lay in the wet grass. Silently, Krel passed the moments in prayer to Talona for wisdom.
            When Thaurlann arrived, horse in tow, a lump caught in his throat as he saw Anya's motionless body. He muttered an oath in Chondathan and began to rush forward.
            Krel rose quickly to intercept the big outlander, suppressing once again the urge to allow Anya to be woken. With hands out stretched, Krel blocked Thaurlann, adding a firm "Vait". With Thaurlann's advance halted, Krel continued. "She is fine." His voice dropped to just above a whisper. "They told me to make her sleep, in case she is a spy." Krel looked intently at the outlander, "It is safer for her to remain sleeping."
            Thaurlann took several deep breaths to digest what had happened. He finally nodded at Krel, but his face showed his deep concern as his eyes darted back and forth at the unconscious figure.
            Krel waited a moment for the other helpers to gather. "Ve need to get her on horse back vith out vaking her. The herbs are still strong, but ve must be gentle, she could still be voken. Thaurlann, I vant you to carry her as you did before. The rest of us vill help get her on the horse."

            Thaurlann kept towards the back of the formation, trying to avoid attention from the other soldiers. Even though Krel had instructed Thaurlann to carry Anya "as before," he made every effort to make her ride much gentler, to the point of propping her up against his chest. Her body heat seemed to permeate the pitted armor, leaving Thaurlann slightly uncomfortable. Though he had carried her before, he was narrowly focused on his attempts to get her to safety. Now, the agonizingly slow pace of the march gave him ample time to reflect.
            The woman's long black hair kept shifting with the motion of the horse, finally falling forward across her face. Thaurlann brushed the hair away, feeling awkward as he dragged a gloved finger across her gentle, sleeping cheek. A bright flush spread across the young man's cheeks, and he suddenly found himself looking around nervously in different directions, trying not to focus on the woman he held gripped in his arm.
            You are a knight! he told himself as his eyes finally settled on the path in front of him. You must not let any impurities enter your mind! His cheeks finally cooled as he reminded himself of his vows to himself and the gods.
            Somehow the enormous racket the singing freeswords were making at the behest of the gypsy failed to wake Anya; perhaps it was due to how Thaurlann cradled her, his cloak snug about her head to keep from knocking her into his armor, or perhaps she was simply that exhausted, but she slept on as the soldiers marched into view of the keep on the lake.

            The Lady sat with Atjets Hugo and Lord Tjesnitjérs, looking much better than when last Rhia had seen her - yet her face was drawn and pale, and she said nothing as the Lord and the Captain spoke. Standing behind her, Heimdall looked much better, and not just because his body had returned to its natural shape. He seemed unbelievably fit, considering how near death he'd been only a few days earlier. Rhia couldn't see a mark on him, nor did he move with as much pain as either of the nobles as he gave her a quick wave and smile.
            "Before you finish the camp, there is something you must do," Lord Tjesnitjérs said. "Von of my varriors, she vas taken by the bandits."
            "I am sorry for the loss, my Lord."
            Tjesnitjérs raised a forestalling hand. "Take a company after them. Hunt them down, Captain."
            There was a brief silence. Atjets Hugo stared at the Lord, his eyes flicking briefly to Rhia behind him. He frowned.
            "My Lord, this thing, it vill be hard to do," Captain Garsha said, his face careful. "The soldiers are not of any army - they are only sellswords. They vill be hard to force back into the Forest."
            "I have given you an order, Captain." Lord Tjesnitjérs' voice was controlled, but the Captain immediately bowed his head, rising from his seat.
            "I vill muster the varriors at vonce, my Lord." He turned to go, but was held in check as the Lord spoke again.
            "A few of the outlanders here in the keep vill go vith you. My missing varrior vas von of them."
            "Yes, my Lord." Captain Garsha glanced at Rhia and Heimdall, his expression flat. He left without another word.
            "I return to the chapel, Onkel," the Lady said, rising with assistance from Heimdall. He hovered about her as she made her slow way to the stairs.
            Atjets Hugo stood. "I go to meet vith the Holy Masters," he announced, but he didn't leave.
            The Lord rose stiffly, turning to Rhia. "The gods smile on you, Maga. You vished to go after your friend, and they send you the force to do so. Take anything you vish from the armory, and find the Captain."
            Rhia nodded - almost bowed - to Lord Tjesnitjérs, the gratitude on her face mixing with a fierce anticipation. "By your leave, Milord."
            The wizardess made her way out of the room and up to the armory. She quickly strapped her leather belts back onto her hips, slung her nautical bandoleer over one shoulder, crossing it with the bandoleer she had collected from Emma's body. Adding just a little extra, she slung Emma's bow and quiver over one shoulder, and finished with her backpack. With one final look around the armory, and thinking of the future, Rhia collected one of the swords in the rack against the wall, strapping it to the side of her pack.
            Collected, she made her way downstairs, checked the gear on her horse, and, Sarai in tow, headed out to find the captain.

            The orders came down through the sergeant; Stammel was looking for troops to send back into the Forest. The hireswords scattered, trying to appear busy with some necessary task; never had so much work been done in such a small time. Stammel stomped through the tight camp, weaving through warriors cutting trees for a palisade, raising tents, tending horses, digging latrines. Here and there he would stop, pull aside some hiresword who wasn't busy enough or had been trouble on the march, and send them to join the unhappy group gathering on the road. Every scout or outlander he could find was rousted from their work to join the bandit hunters.
            At the mention of going into the forest again Aksana's skin turned cold. After a life in the city the sights and especially the things she could not see had frightened and confused her. She strove to look busy helping Krel with Anya. She kept her head down, her hair covering her face. She muttered a quiet prayer to Shar that the sergeant would pass her by.
            The Holy Masters went into a tent with the local Atjets, leaving the priests to mill about aimlessly, speculating on where they would stay. Manakja Aliz emerged from the throng. She was smiling.
            "I see that the voman, she is still here. I vill take her now to the Lieutenant for qvestioning. You, take her, and do not disturb her sleep." She motioned at two hireswords, who moved forward.
            Krel had been wondering when the Sharran would make her appearance again. Krel stayed crouched near the sleeping form of Anya, who lay at Thaurlann's feet, her head cushioned by his crumpled cloak. Krel knew he could slap her awake in a moment if he desired, but held his hand to see how things would play out. The hireswords halted, glancing between Krel and Aliz uncomfortably. "The keep is there. Send vord to the lord that ve have von who claims to be his servant. A simple task, and if she is von of the lord's servants, she vill give us all the information she has on these bandits. I vill let her sleep until the answer arrives."
            Aliz's face darkened. "I am no acolyte, to send messengers to this von and that von. The captain, he has asked that I bring her for qvestioning under the eyes of Shar. I vill take her, and you can send vhat messages you vant yourself." She glared, ignoring the intimidating outlander's scowl. The hireswords looked increasingly unhappy, glancing out at the other soldiers longingly.
            Thaurlann remained motionless, watching the exchange with one hand resting gently on the pommel of his sword. For a short while, he'd been confused by the priest's apparent complicity. He could tell by Krel's present actions, though, that the priest was holding firm to protecting the woman from danger.
            Aliz stepped forward, reaching for Anya. "She is no longer your concern, Atjets. Now she belongs to Shar. If she speaks the truth, she has nothing to fear."
            Krel's muscles went taught as he stood slowly, his eyes never leaving Manakja Aliz. If the Sharran wanted to retrieve Anya, she would have to stoop below Krel to do it. The healer's jaw was clenched as he bit back the words he wished to say to the Manakja. No one had to fear if they spoke the truth, a statement in itself which was one of the greatest lies ever spoken. Krel did fear for Anya though, for those labeled "spy" were often not treated well while the "truth" was being extracted.
            Aliz hesitated, frowning, clearly unwilling to stoop below Krel. As Krel stared down the Sharran, Anya stirred at his feet. She was frowning and mumbling about not drinking something. Thaurlann watched, absorbing all he could. The reactions of Krel to the priestess, and vice-versa, led him to believe that the two had a history. Unfortunately for Anya, it seemed as though she had somehow become a pawn in their conflict for ultimate righteousness. He tried to remember what his mentor had taught him about the spiritual hierarchy. It didn't come to him as naturally as it did to the natives, though usually it wasn't that hard to say. He'd never seen a dispute between the Churches, and he just wasn't quite sure who outranked whom.
            Ignoring Anya's restless movements, Aliz' face smoothed into unreadability as she stared at Krel. "Of course, you understand the duties of our office," she said. "Ve cannot pick and choose vhat ve like among the Gods' dominions. That vould be blasphemy, naturally. I do not vish to disturb you further, Atjets, so vith your blessing on the voman in farevell, I vill bring her before the eyes of Shar." She smiled slightly, raising her chin.
            With resignation Krel watched Manakja Aliz. The healer had pushed as far as he was able in order to protect his patient. He could not directly block the Manakja any further, but maybe he could still watch over his ward.
            "To the captain, then." Krel's gaze never left the Sharran. "Qvestions he may have about the extent of her injuries. He may doubt, as you do, vithout my testimony."
            Aliz smiled. "You think perhaps to take on the robes of Shar instead?" She waved off a reply, turning and gesturing sharply at the hireswords. "Vell? You are vaiting for me to throw her over my shoulder?" They hurried forward, muttering apologies with downcast eyes as they stooped to lift Anya.
            Regardless of who Thaurlann believed had ultimate authority, Krel had acquiesced to the priestess' demands. "I should be the one to carry her," Thaurlann said, broadcasting his voice to get the others' attention. Thaurlann knelt down and prepared to lift her up, then drew his hands back for a moment as she stirred, frowning. When he realized she was not going to bolt upright, he gingerly brushed back hair from her forehead as he prepared to cradle her head.
            The hireswords hesitated, glancing back at Manakja Aliz. Whatever they saw, they clamped onto Anya's arms and legs in a hurry. "The Manakja has told us to bring her," one said, trying to tug her out of Thaurlann's grasp. With all three trying to pull her in several different directions, it was an unpleasant moment to wake up.

            As the company entered the area around the keep, Speilos surveyed the stronghold, looking for an ambush. Coming to his senses, he laughed a full belly laugh. Old habits die hard, he thought. I've got to relax. Nothing for that like a good show. Where there are nobles, there is coin. He smiled, obilvious to the looks of those around him for his odd behavior.
            Spielos set out looking for someone who looked important- a guard captain or some such would surely come out to meet a force this size. But strangely enough, it was Captain Garsha who went to the keep. He returned before long, and whatever orders he gave sent the camp into furious activity; Spielos had never seen hireswords so willing to do camp duties.
            A large number had left the camp to stand on the road, looking unhappy, when someone finally came out of the keep. Spielos spotted the woman from yards away. There was something about officials everywhere, the way they carried themselves. This one accepted a horse from a child who stood gawping at the crowd, then headed straight toward the camp with determined strides. He wasn't sure exactly what her rank was, but from the way she moved it must have been high... besides which, she was the only one apart from the Captain to have exited the keep.
            He drew closer and did his best to make no threat. "Good day, good saer," he said, springing into a handstand a good distance away. "Spielos at your service. Would your Boyar or troops care for a show?" Spielos dismounted from his stand, performed a roll away from the woman and sprung to his feet. "What say you?"
            Dear gods, another Ty. Rhia stopped suddenly, earning her an irritated nudge from Sarai. She was about to inform the man that she couldn't speak for the Boyar's desires, when it occured to her that she had been doing just that - and with some measure of frequency - lately. Still, no need to over step her bounds, and over something as small as entertainment.
            "The Boyar is tired, and busy with making arrangements," her voice was a firm contralto, with the accent of southern seas. "He is likely not interested in entertainment just now. Later this evening, perhaps, we may have something to celebrate, but until then..." she trailed off, looking the man up and down, noting his dress, his accent, and his sword.
            "Perhaps you'd like to accompany us. We're going on a bit of a rescue and revenge mission. The person we're after is a Moonsea native, and a friend to me, which is rare, given my outlander status. She's been captured by bandits. Being an outlander yourself, it may serve you well to be seen helping a native, and if you are a teller of tales as well as a tumbler, this one should be a doozy. But make up your mind quickly. We have no time to waste." The woman's gaze went distant, as if trying to see something far off. Her voice changed, as if no longer speaking to the man before her. "I don't know how long Anya has left." Her eyes snapped back to focus as she noted a bit of a commotion in the newly formed camp.
            Speilos smiled broadly and dusted himself off. "I've spoken out of turn it seems. You're not from around here - not by a long shot. Your speech and dress give you away. In fact, I've seen some gear such as yours on ships before. Besides, as crazy and insular as these folk seem to be, I'd lay coin you're in the Boyar's service somehow- but you're not his spokesperson. If you were, you'd not be giving me the option of helping you if you were as determined as you seem."
            "As for the rest, the company which which I travel picked up a woman who was beaten and badly used- rumor has it perhaps by the bandits of which you speak. The healers seem to have kept her alive, at any rate. Last I saw she was... sleeping. Does she have grey eyes and black hair?"
            The black-haired woman's head snapped around, her eyes locking with the stranger's. The intensity of her gaze could likely start a fire, was she looking at anything flammable.
            "Where is she? Take me to her. Now."
            There was no give in her voice, no hint that any possibility might exist that he would not immediately do as she demanded. Her bearing brooked no argument. She made quite the impressive sight - or would have, had she not been nudged again, rather forcefully, by the horse behind her. She staggered forward, turned a withering look on the horse for a moment, and then returned her gaze to the man before her.
            "Please, if it is my friend you speak of, I need to see her as soon as possible."
            Then she heard the scream, and her face went pale. "Anya!"

            Vhat are you doing here? The voice startled Anya, and when she spun around she saw her brother.
            "Han!" She jumped up and hugged her long-deceased sibling, "I need you Han, it hurts!"
            He made no move to return her hug. "I cannot help you, snowflake. I am dead."
            Anya looked up at her brother, startled. "No…"
            He looked down at her, his face stern and unflinching.
            Anya felt her eyes water. "No… no… I need you…"
            Han's face softened a little. "No, you do not. Not anymore, snowflake. That it vhy I left. You can take care of yourself now. You must take care of yourself."
            Anya buried her face in his chest and closed her eyes tight to hold back her tears. "But it hurt... It hurts so much Han..."
            "I know it does, but you must still answer my qvestion."
            Anya looked up again, uncomprehending. "Vhat qvestion?"
            "Vhat are you doing here?" Han's face stared blankly at her.
            "Here?" Anya looked around at the blurred out surroundings, "This is a dream. I am dreaming."
            "Vhy are you dreaming, snowflake?" Han spoke but his lips did not move anymore.
            Anya frowned, "Because I am asleep, of course."
            Han faded into the darkened background. "Vhy are you sleeping during the day, snowflake?"
            "Because…" Anya's frown deepened. Why was she sleeping during the day? She remembered the troops getting ready to leave. She wasn't tired then. In fact she was feeling the best she had in days. That's why she gave the Atjets his horse back.
            "Then he gave me something to drink..." she whispered as the realisation dawned on her.
            The darkness surrounding her suddenly grew hands that reached out for her.
            "You are in danger, snowflake," Han's voice said, "Vake up!"
            Dark hands grabbed her then, some holding her arms while others roughly groped her breasts or felt up between her legs.
            Anya screamed.

            Aksana stood back and watched the power struggle between the two priests. Krel had presented himself as a trustworthy companion thus far, but her ultimate loyalties lay with the Sharran. She frowned, unsure of what to do.

            Whatever response Krel had for the Sharran's statements on religious doctrine were lost as Anya awoke. At least now Anya could speak for herself.
            The dark hands pulling at her mind made way to the real hands pulling at her body. There was no doubt in her mind as she saw the hireswords pulling at her. She was back among the bandits.
            "Nooooo!" Her scream was primal and angry, and the kicks and punches that accompanied it were sudden and panicked. The hireswords instinctively bore down, trying to still her thrashing.
            Dodging blows, Aksana tried to get Anya's attention. "Anya! Calm down, you vere just having a bad dream." She tried to push the hireswords away. "Let her go, you only make things vorse!"
            The political tug-of-war over Anya's fate had suddenly transformed into a physical tug-of-war. Thaurlann allowed himself to be caught up in the struggle, not even realizing that the prize was a living, breathing person. A wayward hand - probably Anya's, but he wasn't sure - struck the outlander in the cheek. The gravity of the situation imposed itself upon his narrow mind.
            Thaurlann stood back, releasing Anya completely. In the same fluid movement, he drew his sword from its scabbard and held it at the ready. "Let her go!" he commanded, buttressing his voice with every ounce of air in his lungs. The hireswords dodged back, leaving Anya alone on the ground.
            Anya did not hesitate. As soon as she was released, she got to her feet and started to run, oblivious to what the others were saying. Her mind had only two words in it: flight or fight. With the camp in disarray about her, spears lay abandoned everywhere, and she scooped one up despite a yell of protest from its owner. Bewildered by the turn of events, Aksana dodged back as Anya ran past her.
            "Do not defy Shar's vill, heretic!" Manakja Aliz spat, but it was Thaurlann her venom was directed at. She turned to the nearby soldiers. "You, come here! Kill this blasphemer!" The motley hireswords scrambled for their spears, and a number of curious priests began to converge on the disturbance.
            Krel was stunned for a moment as events spiraled out of control. He had been trying to protect Anya, and now his efforts had brought in the foreigner, possibly to his doom. He stepped in front of Thaurlann, facing him. "Thaurlann!" The small healer's voice was raised and urgent. Krel stared up at the big soldier. "Lower the veapon." Thaurlann paused at the healer's command, but there were still spears pointed at him, so he could not fully comply. He did note with a wry grin that Anya had taken the moment of confusion to bolt out of harm's way.
            Krel turned to face those around Thaurlann. "Stop! Everyvon stop!" The healer held his arms outstretched, trying to wave people off. "Stop!" Thaurlann lowered his sword, but did not sheathe it. Instead he watched the spearmen to see their reactions. The hireswords halted uncertainly, looking from him to Manakja Aliz. Thaurlann glanced for a moment at a horse galloping towards them, but as it turned away he returned his gaze to the sellswords. Aksana was startled by the Sharran's command. Unsure of what to do, again she hesitated. The horse pounding by helped her make up her mind as she narrowly dodged out of the way. She fell back, circling to get something solid against her back and surveyed the situation closely.
            Aliz was livid. "You protect a heretic, Atjets?" she asked softly. "You protect him from the Church?" A murmur ran through the gathering priests, and they watched Krel's response with avid interest. One raised her voice. "This is true, Atjets?"
            Krel paused as the Sharran twisted the situation back upon him. He glanced in the direction that Anya had fled. Had Krel's efforts to help the woman led to his and the foreigner's destruction?
            His voice was calmer than he felt. "No. I halt battle in our own camp. I vait for the truth. Vhere is the truth in your rage? This man carried the voman at my order. Carried her vhen ve rescued her and carried her vhen you vanted her controlled. Perhaps he acted rashly in following his task. A soldier acting vithout thought in the heat of the moment." Aliz nodded slowly at his words, until he added, "Not unlike others."
            In a rare moment of restraint, Thaurlann kept his mouth closed. His only reaction to the well-spoken priest was a deep nod of respect. Almost without realizing it, he had released the sword and heard it softly thud into the earth at his feet.
            Manakja Aliz eyed Krel sharply, but whatever she saw, she waved off the hireswords. "Control yourself, outlander, or you vill find yourself on the stake someday." She nodded to Krel. "Now, Atjets, if you vill locate your vard, ve vill take her to the captain."
            Krel exerted all of his control to avoid any obvious display of the relief he felt. He did note that a moment ago the woman was no longer his concern, but now that she was missing, she was suddenly his ward again. He thought it best not to point that out to Manakja Aliz.
            He forced himself to give her a slight nod. "She ran that vay." The healer gestured a scarred hand in the direction which Anya had fled. The group of priests drifted apart as Aliz told the hireswords to fetch Anya. Before moving away, Krel turned toward Thaurlann. His words were carefully chosen. "The voman does not need to be carried any more. You are free to attend to your other duties." Thaurlann kept his eyes lowered, almost shamefully, as the priest spoke to him. Krel looked like he wanted to say something more. Instead he gave Thaurlann the slightest of nods and walked away in the direction Anya had fled.
            As Krel departed, Thaurlann looked up longingly, part of him wanting to beg for mercy for his actions and another wanting to justify what he had done. Instead, he simply knelt one knee to the ground to retrieve his fallen sword. He examined the blade for a minute as the others filed away, muttering about heretics in voices just loud enough to hear, then finally put the sword back into its sheathe.
            Despite what he wanted to believe, for the moment he was nothing more than a heretic mercenary.
            He looked around for the nearest officer to ask for orders.

            The shouts drew Speilos' attention away from the woman in front of him. His smile melted off of his face and replaced by an almost serene detachment as his reflexes and training took over. In a very soft voice said, <"Fortune favors the bold."> Turning away from the shocked person in front of him, he drew his rapier in a fluid motion and ran towards the ruckus.
            <"Indeed it does,"> Rhia answered, pulling herself up onto Sarai's back. With a quick double tap of her heels against the horse's side, she quickly headed towards the scream.
            Knocking startled soldiers out of her way when she or they could not avoid it, Rhia came upon the sight of several armed men in something of a standoff, while a furious-looking woman screeched orders and the scarred man Rhia had seen earlier stood between them, exhorting everyone to stop. What drew her attention, however, was the familiar shock of raven-black hair as Anya bolted the scene. Without a thought for anyone or anything else, Rhia sent Sarai in chase.
            "Anya!" Rhia tried to ride in beside the frantically fleeing woman, and offer her an arm. "Anya! It's Rhia! Climb up, and I'll get you to the keep!"
            Hearing her name, Anya looked back for a moment and was stunned to see Rhia galloping toward her. What was the mage doing here? Was it a rescue attempt? Finally? Her heart quickened at the thought.
            As Rhia's horse came near, Anya grabbed her hand, put her foot on the mage's for leverage and tried to haul herself up behind the rider. Pain jabbed through her mangled hands and bandaged ribs, loosening her grip. She was forced to fall back; she couldn't keep a tight enough grip to haul herself onto Sarai.
            "You have come to join the hunt, outlander?" Captain Garsha stood nearby, his hands on his hips as he looked between Anya and Rhia. "I take it this is your missing friend?" He peered at Anya and grunted. "Huh. She does not look like an outlander. Are you an outlander, girl?"
            Rhia sighed. First impressions in this place are a killer. "Captain, I have come to join the hunt, yes. And yes, this woman is my friend. As she is missing no longer, but obviously in some discomfort, I will have to postpone our little venture long enough to get her safely inside the keep, where Manakja Alexana can look after her. If you can excuse us for some few minutes, I will return to join you. If you feel you cannot wait, I understand."
            Anya wasn't sure what to think. Her heart was beating so hard it threatened to rip out of her chest and her mouth was dry. Looking around, she saw Ezeroh Keep and noticed the soldiers were not setting up siege. If Rhia was here, clearly undefeated and not fighting...
            The ranger shook her head. Regardless of the situation, the intention of the soldiers who had awakened her was unmistakable.
            "Be varned," Anya finally said, looking the captain straight in the eyes. "Defenceless vaifs, ve are not. She is a poverful maga, and I have seen my share of battles. Ve vill die before being used by your men and ve vill take most of them to meet Bhaal and Myrkul vith us."
            “Used by…?” Like the Captain, Rhia looked puzzled for a moment; then understanding hit her like a tidal wave. Her eyes flashed with anger and her expression changed like a typhoon gathering over a once-peaceful ocean. She impaled the captain on her stare, speaking very carefully, each word a sharp chip of storm-driven ice.
            “Captain, is it Moonsea custom to allow injured women to be used by the common soldiery? I somehow think that Lord and Manakja Tjenitjérs will not take kindly to this news. And I assure you, they will hear of it.”
            Garsha gaped at her, clearly caught completely by surprise. Anya could see the thoughts flicker in his eyes as they shifted between her and Rhia, weighing their rank, tackling the discovery that the woman before him was a witch. After a moment, he gave them both a short bow. "I beg your forgiveness, Maga; I did not know of your skills. Ve vill vait, of course; it is the Lord's orders that ve go vith you. And my apologies to you, Lady. Ve vould have seen better to your comfort if ve had known you vere the Maga's... companion. Our intent is qvite the opposite, if you vill forgive my correction - it is ve who are at your command, as it pleases the Lord." He couldn't quite keep the disbelief off of his face; Anya's accusation appeared to have shaken him deeply. Around them, a clump of hireswords fidgeted nervously, glancing back the way they had come.
            The Captain frowned. "Maga, you are an outlander, so you cannot know this, but I tell you that it is impossible that any of the soldiers, they have done this thing. Good Lady, you know that this is true."
            "Do not listen to him!" Anya spat. "Either he lies or he knows not of vhat he speaks. The Atjets who... cared for my vounds... I told him I vorked for the Lord and Manakja Tjesnitjérs, and still he tricked me vith a sleeping drug. And vhen I avoke just now, the soldiers, they vere..." Her voice broke and she quickly tried to compose herself. "They vere... groping... the svolochs! I vill kill them all!" Tears were flowing from Anya's eyes as she suddenly reached for the dagger Rhia had in her boot.
            The Captain's face was rigid with fury. His fist clenched on the hilt of his saber as though he were struggling to keep it from leaping free of its sheathe. "They have dared to lay hands on a voman of the Favored People? Show to me the dogs that have done this thing. If it is the truth you speak, they vill be executed." The soldiers around them muttered angrily in agreement, parting to allow her to show the way, but they were stopped as the two who had pinned her stepped forward and knelt, heads bowed. There was suddenly a wide space between them and the others as the rest of the hireswords drew back in horror.
            "Ve are the vons the Manakja asked to carry her, but ve have not touched her so! Ve only vould lift her, but von of the outlanders, he tried to keep us from following the Manakja's command!" There was a collective intake of breath at such audacity.
            Captain Garsha frowned, turning back to Anya. "Lady, if they vere doing as a Manakja asked, they vould not touch you so. It is maybe the outlander who has done this thing?" Murmurs of agreement and curses met his words, but he went on. "You are saying that this crime vas done to you vith soldiers all around and a Manakja standing by?" Doubt crept into his voice, and he turned to murmur something to the Lieutenant, who in turn sent someone trotting off.
            Rhia cocked an eyebrow at the “voman of the Favored People” remark, but decided to let it go without asking the captain if his reaction would be different if the victim hadn’t been a moonsea native. His reaction didn’t seem to be feigned, and it had been quite spectacular.
            The resulting revelations, coupled with Anya’s (now armed) silence, brought doubt into Rhia’s mind as well, but perhaps not the same doubts as the captain’s. Her fingers twitched, and she fought the reflex to Weave. Too many witnesses, and apparently more priests around - priests who likely aren’t as tolerant of ‘witches’ as is Alexana.
            “Captain, if the Manakja these men mentioned was the woman I saw, she didn’t seem… quite in control of herself at the moment Anya ran. Perhaps there has been a misunderstanding?”
            The Diviner focused her gaze on Anya, looking for the marks she had seen on other women - women rescued from pirate slavery - far too often. Every woman reacted differently, but there were always some similarities. Anya was a fighter, Rhia knew (as if the dagger Anya held in her battered fingers left any doubt), and what Rhia was seeing seemed consistent with something far more than even the “groping” Anya had accused the men of.
            A cold, sickening feeling began to creep up Rhia’s spine, leaving goosebumps on her skin and bile in her throat. She peered at Anya, trying to see some hint of what she'd been through. Anya stood in a slight crouch, a knife-fighter's stance, marred by her mangled hands clumsily trying to grip Rhia's dagger. It was the only sign of abuse Rhia could see; Anya looked furious and dangerous.
            As Rhia tried to mediate the situation, Anya's looked at those surrounding her, waiting for her to justify herself so the captain could apply his justice if need be.
            "You think I vant your justice?" She suddenly broke into a sudden and almost maniacal laugh, making the hireswords shift away uneasily. "I do not vant your justice. I spit on your justice." To emphasize her point she spat on the ground. "I saw no foreigner and no Manakja, but I saw those two between my legs. And it vas an Atjets who gave me the potion of sleeping. That is all I need to know. I have been touched by a goddess, you see. Loviatar vas impressed by my strength when I vas in the bandits' hands. She allowed me to escape and heal. She did this so I could get revenge. She did it so I could get my own justice. Divine justice. So keep yours. You are probably only angry because your men, they started the party vithout you."
            Anya turned to the two kneeling soldiers and lifted her broken hands to show them clearly. "Vhen my hands, they are healed..." She tried to close her hands properly on the dagger she held and winced in pain. "Vhen they are healed, I vill kill you myself. You have until then to run. But know that I am von of the best trackers in the Moonsea. I vill find you and I vill kill you, just like I vill kill Man..." her voice choked on the name, "the bandits who tried to take Ezeroh." She was shaking with anger and tears were flowing on her cheeks. Her voice raised to a scream. "I vill kill all of you! All of you!"
            Holding the dagger before her, Anya began to walk backward toward the keep. Once she was convinced she was far enough from the others, she turned and ran toward Ezeroh.
            The two men Anya had accused stared at the Captain, whey-faced with knowledge of their impending execution. However, the Captain only scowled at Anya's retreating back. "You, take these two to the dungeon in the Keep. Maga, your pardon; I have to speak vith the Manakja." He stalked off toward the priests gathered on the road and arguing about something. A group of hireswords grabbed hold of the men and pushed them toward the Keep.

            Spielos watched the chaos from a safe distance away. There were a lot of variables at play here. He was, by and large, clueless as to what they were. He wondered for what had to have been the hundredth time: Why did I come here again?
            Adventure and grand tales to be told. Right.
            He needed an audience to take his mind off of things. The road - barely a trail, really, just two wheel-ruts in the tall weeds - continued on past the keep, no doubt leading to the village the local Lord protected. He could see traces of smoke over the trees on the far side of the lake.

            With the discovery that at least some of Anya's claims were true - enough to preclude questioning, for certain - Manakja Aliz, annoyed at having been bothered for a duty that never appeared, rejoined the priests gathered on the road. Joining them, Krel learned that the Holy Masters had entered the Keep together with the local Talontar Atjets; the hopefuls were to find their quarters in the village. However, the Masters had told them that a number of warriors would be sent back into the Forest. Should any care to do so, this might make an excellent opportunity for their Test.
            Few seemed enthused with the idea. After days of riding, the priests were sore, tired, and more concerned with a hot bath than possible glory. Still, some few had volunteered, and now stood wistfully watching the greater number of them ride down the trail to the village.
            Thaurlann found himself sent along with the priests, one of their token guards as they rode to the village. A bit of dispute as to whether the warriors should ride ahead of them or behind them was settled by having them ride off to one side, though the matter continued to feed their arguments all the way to the tiny village. The stately procession was marred a bit by their mud-spattered clothes, but judging from the stares as they rode through the gate and dismounted, the villagers thought they were quite a spectacle nonetheless. For once he wasn't the focus of their stares - the priests and the gypsy gave him more breathing room than he was used to.
            Amid complaints of the quarters they were relegated to - a large house meant to house itinerant miners was surrendered to them, poor accomodations compared to what they were used to - and the majority noisily invaded the tavern across the street.
            He remained silent throughout the ride, though he felt a tad strange being branded a heretic and then given the sole duty of guarding the clergy. As they approached the town wall, they came upon Spielos standing outside. He smiled slightly upon seeing the gypsy again, though his thoughts were more focused on the task at hand.
            The stately procession was marred a bit by their mud-spattered clothes, but judging from the stares as they rode through the gate and dismounted, the villagers thought they were quite a spectacle nonetheless. For once he wasn't the focus of their stares - the priests and the gypsy gave him more breathing room than he was used to.
            Amid complaints of the quarters they were relegated to - a large house meant to house itinerant miners was surrendered to them, poor quarters compared to what they were used to - the majority noisily invaded the tavern across the street.
            As the priests began to disperse - either to their lodging or to the tavern - Thaurlann began to look for one priest in particular. Since he couldn't very well invade the women's quarters, he pushed his way into the tavern, leaving his horse to be tended by the villagers. A quick look was enough to show that his quarry wasn't there. Finding no sign of the Manakja he sought, Thaurlann returned to where a large crowd had gathered to watch Spielos perform.

            Though the inn was crowded with the relaxing clergy, the muddy streets were empty; it seemed to Aksana that though no one had remained outside when they spotted the soldiers coming, everyone was busy either serving the priests, taking care of their mounts, or listening to Spielos' tales. A few long, loose planks resting on logs ran alongside the low buildings on either side of the street, allowing the villagers to go about their business without having to jump into the thick, caking mud. Unlike in the city, the mud wasn't composed of nightsoil and urine, and the air smelled of rain, the occasional breath of woodsmoke and dung from the large pen filled with bleating goats, a few pigs and now a number of horses wandering out from the stable. There was only a handful of buildings, making the boarding-house and tavern an oddity, not to mention the size of the stable.
            It was clear to her that a force of any size would easily wipe away this tiny village - even with the presence of the Keep, it was near-miraculous that it had lasted as long as it had. There was little to learn from the villagers while they were busy with the clergy and the gypsy. She entered the tavern, angling toward the priests.

            The 'village' turned out to be so tiny it barely qualified as a house, in Spielos' opinion. Suspicious eyes peered down at him from behind the palisade; apparently the villagers thought he was hiding a thousand marauders under his cloak. He might have been standing there still but for the arrival of the bickering priests. The gate was opened readily enough for them, and though the clergy took no notice of him, the villagers decided that was approval enough and allowed him to slip inside as well.
            Once inside, Spielos felt the eyes of the villagers on him. He was used to stares; he enjoyed them in a setting such as this. As the rest of the company filtered past him, he put on his performing face. Walking a short distance away off the trail into a fairly open space, he began to stretch and warm up- performing a few basic tumbles, rolls and stances. He punctuated some of the moves with medium volume exclamations to warm up his voice, as well. He waited until more eyes were on him (and him alone) and began to chant in a rhythmic, sing-song cadence.
"Strange man from faraway land,
what will you do?
Strange man from faraway land,
what will you do?

"I'll stand on my head," (Speilos did just that)
"Sing and dance, and tell a tale or two." (he moved to a one-handed handstand)
"I'll stand on my head,
Sing and dance, and tell a tale or two!"

            He returned to his feet and began to dance in a fluid and acrobatic manner, performing leaps and turns as he continued to sing.
"Strange man, from faraway land
what tales will you tell?
Strange man, from faraway land,
what tales will you tell?

"Tales of dragons and heroes,
battles and sorrow, and songs of pirates on the sea.
Tales of dragons and heroes,
battles and sorrow, and songs of pirates on the sea."

            Spielos stopped dancing, and smiled as brightly as he could as he faced the small group of people who had stopped to watch him. "I am Spielos, teller of stories! What tale would you hear?"
            The crowd gawped as though they'd never seen anything like him - and it was possible that they hadn't. The adults stared at him silently until he asked for requests; then they seemed to release some collective tension, muttering among themselves. A few of them called out for stories, and he spent the hour tumbling and telling tales.
            Spielos performed with his heart and soul, pouring every ounce of his talent into his show. It was a sweet, sweet release, and he needed it. It was better than sex- like fighting- No!- this was how the Gods must have felt when they created the world. After a time, a small voice in the back of his mind said: "Now, now is the time."
            He wrapped up his performance and gave a fast look around to see if any coin was coming his way. No villager carried a money-purse that he could see, and no coin was offered to him, but when he moved to leave them, several older men and women stepped forward, half-ringing him. As they advanced on him, Spielos adopted a neutral face, but shifted into a subtle defensive stance that would allow him to spring away if needed. He let one hand slip to his waist, checking the dagger there and hiding the movement as if he was fixing his trousers.
            "You vill tell von story more. Then you can go," one woman said imperiously. The others folded their arms, nodding in agreement. Everyone watched Spielos carefully.
            He listened closely to the woman speaking and watched the men around her for any sign of threat. They stared back with the infamous flat, hostile stare that had branded them Mooneyes in the Heartlands. For some reason he couldn't understand, alarms were going off in his head.
            Spielos met the gaze of the woman evenly and allowed a slow, friendly smile, as a bead of sweat rolled down his nose to splat onto the ground. "As you wish. I imagine it is not often you get entertainment here, of course you would ask for more," he said softly.
            The woman nodded, satisfied, and stepped back, as did the other elders. They seemed smug as a cat with cream, though Spielos did notice that some of the younger members of the crowd (though not the children) seemed no happier. He almost expected trouble, but after he finished his final story, the villagers dispersed without incident, talking happily among themselves. Now that they'd come to terms with Spielos, they stared at Thaurlann, passing the warrior in a wide arc.
            "Ho, gypsy!" a man called from the door to the tavern. "Come drink vith us!" He nodded to Thaurlann, his eyes dropping uneasily to the big man's sword. "Of course you are velcome also, varrior." He hesitated, almost ducked inside, looked around the muddy commons. Someone inside called for him to close the bloody door. Taking a deep breath, he peered at Thaurlann.
            "I mean no disrespect, saer, but... the other varriors, they are outlanders like you? Vhere vill you all be staying?" The shutters creaked slightly open; apparently the question wasn't bothering just the man who asked.

            Inside, the tavern was warming from the fire newly set in the hearth, and the clergy sat talking nearby, completely separate from the few villagers, who were relegated to the still-cold corner of the room. The only exception was the red-haired hiresword who had helped Atjets Krel with Anya. She sat speaking quietly with a priest, a little away from the others.

            "Captain, if you don't mind, I would like to accompany you." Rhia moved to follow the Captain. She hadn't seen anything to confirm or deny her suspicions, other than Anya's wildly unusual behavior, but the idea of the priesthood being involved raised even more flags in her head. What in the Nine Hells is going on around here?
            The runner the Lieutenant had sent off earlier stood holding the reins of a horse just behind one of the Manakjas. The fellow half-bowed and spoke quietly to her as Rhia and the Captain approached, and she stepped away from the knot of priests to meet them. "Vhat is it, Captain? Are the eyes of Shar needed after all?"
            Garsha bowed his head, speaking quietly. "Manakja Aliz, this is the Maga. She is a friend of the voman, and stands vell vith the Lord for her help in his rescue." Aliz gave Rhia a flatly suspicious look.
            "The voman, she claims the men vere going to misuse her." Garsha gestured towards the hireswords herding the alleged rapists over the drawbridge. His eyes slid towards Rhia. "Of course I take such a claim seriously, but I have sent them to the dungeon for now, in case there has been some confusion. If you vould be so kind, Manakja, I ask that you show to me the hireswords who vere there, and tell to me the truth of this matter."
            Aliz snorted disparagingly. "It is not necessary, Captain. It is only lies or foolishness the voman speaks. I brought the men to fetch her vhile she slept, but a heretic defied my order and voke her. I remained behind to speak vith the Atjets who tended her vounds, then followed vith the varriors. Vhen this von, she came to the voman, I saw that it vould not be necessary to draw the truth from her. Though it seems she lies after all." She made a dismissive gesture. "Release your men, Captain."
            Rhia’s eyes narrowed at the irritating little woman’s assumption that Anya would lie or speak foolishness. Her expression went icy when the woman flatly declared it. “You have no authority to determine the freedom or incarceration of anyone on these lands, Manakja. These lands belong to Lord Harkon Tjesnitjérs, and Anya Ravenmane is under his rule of justice, as she has served him well.”
            The look of unadulterated astonishment Manakja Aliz gave her was mirrored by Captain Garsha and the runner. The expression on Rhia’s face spoke of one tolerating (barely) the incompetence of a servant long fallen from favor. She moved her eyes to the collection of hireswords and (she assumed) priests gathered nearby, and adjusted her voice to carry a bit.
            “Anya Ravenmane is a brave woman, a fighter, one who offered her sword and her life in the service of a man she did not even know. She came to this keep seeking to find a lost child, and bring him to safety. She then stayed to serve a lord in need of assistance, and was taken by bandits who consort with spirits while serving.” She flicked her gaze derisively back to Aliz as the curious clergy and hireswords came to see what was going on.
            “In an effort to gather the facts of the case, let me get see if I understand you. You decided that the best way to treat a woman so obviously mistreated and injured - who had escaped from a bandit camp - was to bring men to move her in her sleep? And when she, unexpectedly awakened from her sleep by unknown men grabbing at her legs and arms, reacts as if she was under attack and in fear for her life, your assumption is that she is lying? A woman of the chosen people? And here I thought those who serve the Gods were supposed to be known for their wisdom.” Rhia looked about again. “Can anyone here, perhaps the Atjets who tended Anya’s wounds, shed the light of wisdom and intelligence on these proceedings?” The Moonfolk muttered angrily, and Rhia heard the words "foreign devil-woman" and "stake" surface here and there. The Captain raised a hand, and their spears didn't quite lower to point at Rhia.
            "You forget yourself, heathen," Manakja Aliz said, her face white with fury. The other priests looked nearly as angry, moving closer. "You do not speak for me, and I owe you no explanation. I could toss your voman to the hounds, and still I vould owe you nothing."
            Krel stood distracted by his own thoughts. Concern showed in his eyes and his furrowed brow. His giving Anya a sleeping herb had brought her distress and the fact that he had been forced into doing it against his judgment brought him no comfort.
            The healer snapped out of his daze and looked up at Rhia as he approached a couple of steps closer to the mage. "Anya vas tended by me." Krel gave Rhia a slight nod of respect, an act he considered prudent considering the authority she appeared to be wielding over the captain at the moment. Aliz gave him a look of disgust, but didn't interrupt. "I am Krel, a humble servant of Talona."
            Krel paused, unsure of how to continue. His voice grew softer, "The bandits caused your friend great suffering. She vas near death vhen the patrol I vas vith found her. She has deep vounds of spirit and body. I vill not speak openly of vhat she endured." The healer's voice grew firmer, "I assure you and the captain that no man of this camp has done her any wrong. I never left her side vhile she slept and she has alvays been vatched by myself or von of the Manakjas. She avoke in the arms of men asked to carry her and she misunderstood vhat vas happening." Krel looked from Rhia to the captain. "The men have done nothing vrong and must be released."
            Rhia looked hard at the new speaker, the unspoken communicating to her more strongly than his words. She raised an eyebrow, and without looking at the captain, spoke softly.
            "Captain, the word of two of the servants of the Gods is likely not to be discounted. I believe the men to be innocent in this matter. I would suggest, however, that you may wish to keep your men in the keep prison for a day or two, for their own protection. But as they are your men, and no longer under suspicion, it is, of course, your decision to make."
            "It is kind of you to grant," Garsha replied. He looked every bit as angry as his warriors.
            Rhia's eyes softened a bit, as she addressed the priest. Krel, was it? "Atjets, if it was you who tended to my friend's wounds, then it is to you that a great debt is owed. If we are to help her recover fully, the Lady Alexana and I will need to hear all that you know. Please, accompany me into the keep, where we can speak in private, and find you an appropriate reward?"
            Krel nodded slightly to Rhia. "Of course, I am happy to be of service." The healer paused as he considered whether to add anything more. He did not know what role the foreign mage played in service to Lady Alexana and Lord Harkon. Certainly she acted as though she had full authority to speak on their behalf. Whatever he might have said, he apparently decided to withhold. Instead the healer simply waited patiently for Rhia to decide it was time to leave.
            Rhia turned her attention briefly to the priestess again, and the dismissal was evident in her voice. "You, if you have nothing of substance to contribute, you may go."
            Manakja Aliz, who had gained a bit of color, lost it again but for the bright spots on her cheeks and forehead. "Enough of this insolence. Captain, throw this vitch in the dungeon." The spears ringing Rhia came down, and Captain Garsha drew his saber.
            "Come qvietly, and do not try any tricks," he said.

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The Second Cycle